Shadows of Darkness
by Lady Alinor
Summary: I never wanted this to happen, I thought as I checked the boy for signs of life. Then I felt a steady, pulsing beat, and I froze. I leaned over and whispered the question. My world seemed to stand still when he breathed a single word. “Yes.” Narcissa POV
1. July 1998

I never wanted to be involved in the shadowed circles surrounding the Dark Lord.

Certainly I'll admit that the Slytherin side of me desired power and influence. When I entered a party, I wanted every head to turn in my direction. I wanted my closest friends to feel privileged to be associated with me. The complexity and games of the upper classes intrigued me.

But I never desired the power that came with the ability of a single word to trigger shaking knees or a simple mark to strike fear in hearts. I never wanted to reign over the lesser classes and torture Mudbloods for fun.

None of that was for me.

When I married, mind you, I was in love with Lucius—but it wasn't the innocent romance I'd dreamed of and read about in fairy tales. I suppose I fell in love with his darker, more twisted side, and my father sealed the marriage before I had time to reconsider.

Lucius was always good to me. I knew I would never be more than a symbol of his status to him, but at the same time, he knew too that he would never been the recipient of my undivided attention and affections.

Those were reserved for my only son—Draco.

He is my light, my joy, my life.

This story, though, is not about him. I do not really know how to begin, but I will try, with my feeble pen, now, in my dying age, to explain to you why I did what I did. It was all out of love for my son and devotion to my husband, not out of loyalty to the Dark Lord. But in the end, I could not save my family.

Only one person could. The last person on earth we would ever want to accept help from, but the only person who could, and would, save us in the end.

Harry Potter.

It was only because of _him_ that my entire family wasn't sent straight to Azkaban after the Battle of Hogwarts.

After all, Lucius and Draco had the painfully noticeable Marks on their left forearms, though the skulls faded a little more every day now that the Dark Lord was finally gone. And I was guilty by association.

But as I sat there before the entire Wizengamot, unable to lift my eyes, feeling the weight of shame pressing down on my shoulders at my public humiliation, I thought that I'd finally accepted my fate. At least in Azkaban I would be far away from the prying eyes of the public. The humiliation would not be so great when I was separated from the Wizarding population without privileges such as newspapers and visits.

In fact, if the choice was mine, I'd ask to be sent straight to Azkaban. The trial was merely a formality, an opportunity for the fools to gawk and laugh as many of the former prominent members of society met their rightful fates, a chance for the vengeful wronged—the families who had lost loved ones—to seek retribution.

I listened half-heartedly as Emelda Diggory—Amos Diggory's older sister, I remembered—read the charges in a cold, harsh voice. When asked if I pled innocent or guilty, I replied quietly that I was guilty. To my surprise, my husband and son echoed my proclamation. Lucius sat straight and tall, chin high as he gazed defiantly at the gathered audience. Draco's shoulders were hunched, his face impassive, and I longed to take him into my arms again, as I did when he was small, and tell him it would be alright—we would get through this. But I couldn't, and I knew we wouldn't, so instead I sat silently, willing myself not to show any hint of emotion on my face as I confessed my sins.

The debating went on for hours. Old crimes were brought up, things Lucius and I had done during the First War. Every offense, every murder, every Unforgivable was laid out for the Wizengamot to scrutinize. Why did they bother? I knew what was coming to me.

The one crime I had not committed was murder—Draco and Lucius were, of course, guilty of this crime on various accounts. I remembered the first time Draco had stumbled home, retching and crying, his eyes tortured and bloodshot. It was the first time I truly wanted to murder my sister. She delighted in his innocence, forever bloodying his hands by forcing him to do unspeakable things to innocent victims. The worst of it was that I could do nothing to stop her. She was _his_ second-in-command, his most loyal follower. She could have us killed with a word.

But was it better to have my son alive, I'd wondered, when I watched him toss and turn and cry out in his sleep, tortured by nightmares I could never hope to understand?

Once, I'd broken down. It was only a week after Lucius had arrived back from Azkaban, emaciated, his long, blond hair—once the pride of his features—now thin and gray. When I heard Draco crying out from his room, I could take it no longer. I'd groveled at Lucius's feet, crying and clinging and begging him to spare our son.

There was nothing he could do, though. I knew that. I never asked again.

I sneaked a peek at my judges through the curtain of my hair, studying their faces briefly. They didn't know—how could they know? They'd been raised by nice Muggle-loving families. They hadn't known what it was like to live in the labyrinth—unable to escape, unable to do anything but survive.

I listened proudly as my son haltingly described his crimes; every Muggle he'd tortured, every Muggleborn he'd killed. He said nothing of Bellatrix Lestrange, nothing of the threats she'd used against him, nothing of the specific Unforgivable she punished him with when he was unable to raise his wand against a helpless victim. He did not grovel, nor did he plead, even when the questioners used less than civil methods, even threatening to extract answers by force if he did not tell the complete and entire truth.

Of the Wizengamot, Emelda Diggory was the worst, I think. Perhaps because her nephew was one of the Dark Lord's first victims after he rose to power the second time. She relentlessly waded through our histories until no secret was left uncovered, arguing until no Wizengamot member was left unconvinced that we were worthy of death.

I hoped for death. For myself. If they deemed my sins less than my son's and husband's, if they pardoned me and punished them . . . If the marks on their forearms was a sure sentence and my spotless skin spared me the same judgment . . .

I couldn't bear to think of it.

The trial wound down a last. "Esteemed members of the Wizengamot," said Kingsley Shacklebolt. Finally, the end was close. I only wished to be away, gone from the bright lights, the interrogating questions, the accusing voices. "The evidence has been laid before you, clearly proving the prisoners' guilt."

Murmurs of approval.

I knew that my own trial had not been near as eventful as my sister's, so many years ago. Back in the days when Lucius and I had hidden behind claims of the Imperius Curse, Bellatrix had eagerly confessed to all charges, taking special delight in describing the murders she'd committed in detail, down to the specifics—which curses, how much her victims screamed, how and when they died. If the audience hadn't been angry before, after her confessions they were outraged. Aurors had to be brought in to restrain relatives of her victims who had tried to jump the barrier and kill her with their bare hands. In the end, the trial was cut short and Bellatrix was removed forcibly from the room, shrieking at the top of her lungs that one day the Dark Lord would rise again and she would be rewarded for her loyalty.

No, my trial was much less eventful.

"The Wizengamot as a whole finds the prisoners guilty of all charges. Before sentences are assigned, the presiding would ask that if anyone in the audience will stand for the prisoners, he must present himself at this time."

A long silence. And then, there was a rustling noise from high above, and like a wave, whispers swept through the crowd, turning into a crescendo of voices. Finally, when I could no longer hear my own thoughts, Minister Shacklebolt's voice rang above the rest. "Silence! Order in the courtroom."

Slowly, the ruckus diminished, but I wasn't even aware of what had taken place until Shacklebolt spoke again, this time, his sharp words directed at a specific person. "Harry, what is the meaning of this?"

My head snapped up, and for the first time, I scanned the audience openly; no one was looking at me. Their heads were turned toward the skinny, black-haired boy standing alone in the highest row. He held his chin up, his gaze directed at the Minister of Magic who looked, quite frankly, flabbergasted.

Harry.

I'd forgotten about him; I hadn't expected him to be here—he'd never cared for Draco during their school years, and Merlin knew he had no love for Lucius. Then why would he be here now? What reason could he possibly have to be _defending_ us?

"Very well." Minister Shacklebolt's voice was hard, and to his right, Emelda Diggory looked livid. "Please make your way to the front, Mr. Potter."

Harry strode down the steps. I stared at him, unable to look away. I couldn't read his face. He didn't glance in our direction. In fact, he acted as if the three of us, chained to our chairs and surrounded by Aurors with wands, were invisible.

"State your reasons for believing, even after the conclusive evidence, that these three deserve a reprieve."

Harry took his place on the platform, still not looking in our direction. I covertly glanced at Lucius; his face was stony. Draco was watching Harry with a look of suspicious wonder.

"Honored members of the Wizengamot," began Harry slowly after clearing his throat. "I speak today on behalf of Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy. I request that they be released."

The roar of outrage was deafening, and Shacklebolt had to cast a _Sonorus_ on himself before he was finally able to quiet the people.

"Thank you," said Harry calmly when order was once again restored. "To many of you, my request is coming as a surprise, but please believe me when I say that I have my reasons."

No one moved, and the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly seemed to be himself again. The formalities over, he cleared his throat again, and ran one hand nervously through his hair. "You see, for anyone else, I wouldn't have bothered, but I owe them"—he pointed at us—"a debt."

Murmurings from the crowd.

"On the night of the Battle of Hogwarts," began Harry haltingly, "it soon became clear to me that there was a connection between me and Lord Voldemort, one I hadn't known about before." He paused, reached up to adjust his glasses; suddenly I wondered how many people he'd told this story. Or if he'd told anyone at all. Thanks to the guards at the Ministry holding cells who were at the very least, informative, I knew that the exact events of the Battle of Hogwarts were unknown to many. Papers speculated and guessed, but no one knew for sure. On the front row of the visitors' benches, I saw the reporters suddenly start scribbling.

"Finally, I reached the conclusion that the only way to defeat Voldemort was to die myself," continued Harry, and many people gasped. He smiled faintly. "The connection that bound us together would prevent his downfall—it's too complicated to explain here and now. The important part is that when Voldemort's message reached the castle—that he'd give me one hour to hand myself over, or kill all the rest. So I left the castle and went into the forest in search of my death."

I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. He'd come to die for his friends, to die that they might live, to die so Voldemort would become mortal again.

He'd known he would have to die, at Voldemort's hand, and he'd walked into the forest anyway.

I'd always wondered why he'd come. Was it hopelessness that drove him? Had he come to surrender? To give up fighting?

The way he'd just stood there at the edge of the clearing haunted me. Standing there, his face pale and drawn, his eyes resigned. He didn't even have his wand out.

"The next thing I knew, a flash of green light was speeding toward me once again, and everything was dark. When I came to my senses, I was lying on the forest floor and Voldemort was sending someone to make sure I was really dead.

"That someone was Narcissa Malfoy."

Collective gasps from the audience. To my left, Draco turned sharply, but I paid him no heed. My eyes were locked on the messy-haired speaker; I knew what he was going to say, and I knew that I deserved no credit for the act of so-called bravery he was about reveal. This wasn't right.

"She felt my heart beating, saw my chest moving up and down, and yet she turned to Voldemort and told him that I was dead," said Harry firmly. "She saved my life. And for this, I owe her a life debt."

I felt numb. My eyes dropped to my hands again, encased in the bands of iron that was cutting into my wrist. I wanted to smooth out my clothes, to touch up my face, but the shackles prevented me from movement. I clenched and unclenched my fingers, trying to bring warmth back into them.

"Is this the truth?" said Minister Shacklebolt sharply.

Harry met his gaze squarely. "It is."

* * *

The deliberation went on for hours after that. Somehow, Harry not only persuaded the Wizengamot that he owed me a life debt for saving his life, but he also convinced them that Lucius and Draco hadn't participated in the final battle. He'd even called for witnesses—anyone who had seen any of the three of us throw a curse during those final chaotic hours. No one came forward.

"You see, their loyalty had turned long before it looked remotely possible that the light would win," said Harry firmly.

Then we were questioned again. Lucius and I both denied using spells during the final battle—we hadn't been involved—though Draco said he'd used shielding spells. A touch of Legilimency to his mind told me that he was telling the truth. He knew it was me, and let his shields down at once. I wondered why Harry hadn't mentioned the incident in the Room of Requirement. Draco and his friends had been trying to capture Harry—unsuccessfully, of course—but it had lead to the death of Vincent Crabbe.

When Harry finally finished arguing in our defense, he crossed his arms and waited, staring defiantly up at the gallery of people watching intently. No one seemed brave enough to disagree with the Boy-Who-Lived. I was hardly paying attention now, trying to inwardly grapple with my conflicting feelings—self-loathing, resignation, shame, bitterness, hope…

_Hope._ I'd given up hope long ago, but looking up at the messy-haired teen standing so firmly under the scores of irate glares, a tiny pinprick of light seemed to break through the darkness around me. I tried to listen, but suddenly the proceedings seemed to be far away, so distant. I heard my husband speaking, and then the Minister of Magic again, then Harry. I suppose a vote was called, but I don't remember it. The next thing I knew, two Aurors were unlocking the shackles that bound my wrists, then moving on to my husband and son. I lifted my hands to my face, studying them. Were we being sent to Azkaban? Then why were they just standing there?

I looked up at the closest Auror. He stared back at me, and I could see the smoldering anger in his eyes. "Go on, get out of here," he growled. A second later, a wand was being shoved at me. My hand closed automatically around it, and with a jolt of surprise, I felt the tingle and warmth of recognition—it was my own wand. I hadn't held it in months, since we'd been taken into Auror custody. I glanced back up at the Aurors, uncomprehendingly.

"Weren't you listening?" the closest one snarled. "Harry bleeding Potter just convinced the Wizengamot that you scum didn't deserve to go to Azkaban with the rest of your kind."

I looked at Lucius; he met my eyes and nodded, confirming the fact that we were free. A second later, Draco was at my side, helping me to my feet, pocketing his own wand in silence. I stared up at the hundreds of wizards and witches, now dispersing, many of whom wore very disgusted expressions on their faces. I finally found Harry Potter. He was talking in a low voice with the minister, but before he turned to go, he must have felt my eyes on him because he turned, and for a second, our eyes locked. Then he nodded at me, and disappeared into the crowd.

"Narcissa." Lucius's voice was cool, but I could hear the disbelief and relief laced into the single word. "Come."

Numbly, I followed him across the courtroom floor, up the long set of stairs, through the gauntlet of disapproving faces, down the dark corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries to the lift. It must be late in the day—the Atrium was crowded with Ministry employees leaving work. For so long, time had had no meaning to me. Days and nights were insignificant in a prison cell. Fortunately, we were able to blend into the crowd as we hurried for the fireplaces lining the walls. It must be a dream, I kept telling myself.

And then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of black. It was Harry Potter, again; he'd been mobbed by reporters in the Atrium and was trying to disperse them. "No, no questions! Yes, I'll release a statement for the Daily Prophet . . . No, I said I wouldn't answer questions."

My steps slowed. I watched him as he finally broke through the reporters and strode determinedly toward a fireplace. And suddenly, I darted toward him, ignoring Draco's calls from behind me, maneuvering my way through the crowd. I had to know.

"Harry."

He turned, and surprise flashed momentarily across his face. Had he honestly thought that we wouldn't be courteous enough to tell him we were grateful for sparing us from Azkaban—a fate rather worse than death, in my mind?

Yes, that was a definite possibility, I thought as I thought of what his former impressions of our family had been like.

"Mrs. Malfoy." His tone was polite, slightly distant, and very curious.

I took a breath, my heart pounding, though I wasn't sure why. How was I supposed to express the enormity of my gratitude in a few short sentences?

"Speaking for my family, the Malfoys are forever in your debt," I said stiffly, and he nodded, turning as if to leave. I reached out and caught his sleeve. "Speaking for myself," I continued, my voice trembling, "why did you do it?"

Harry looked slightly confused. "You saved my life," he said matter-of-factly.

"I saved my own life," I countered. "And the lives of my husband and son. You were the only one who could defeat him."

We both knew to which "him" I was referring.

Surprise flashed momentarily across his face. "If Voldemort had won, your family would have been honored."

I winced at the name. "We fell out of the Dark Lord's favor long ago. There was nothing left for us with him. As for saving your life, I had selfish reasons. I did it for my son." The truth hurt, but it was liberating, in a way.

Harry's expression was unreadable. "If I had told you your son was dead, would you still have spared my life?" he said at last.

"Yes, but . . ." I stopped, suddenly unsure of what I meant.

Harry looked at me for a long moment. Then he said quietly, "You did it for your son. I of all people can understand that."

He was talking about his mother. And in that instant I knew he _did_ understand. Because if I had been in Lily Potter's place, I knew without a shadow of doubt that I would have done the exact same thing.

"We'll never be able to repay you," I choked out.

"You don't have to," he said sincerely, his piercing green eyes seeming to see straight into my soul.

I did something impulsive. I crushed his hand between my own. Then I turned and without a backward glance hurried through the crowd, back to my husband and son.

They asked no questions. We turned and left the Ministry, never to return.

* * *

It was a week before we discussed what we were going to do.

I had spent the entire week being pampered by the House Elves. Although my body felt stronger, my fatigue still lingered. I could sleep for hours and still be exhausted when I awoke. Lucius was much worse off than me. He could hardly rest at all, and after a week at home, his face was even gaunter, the dark circles around his eyes even more prominent than before. I knew if we were ever to fully recover from our experiences, it would have to be elsewhere. The thought of a period of absence lingered in my mind.

Draco made himself scarce, spending hours locked in his rooms, emerging only for meals and often not even then. Surprisingly, after a week he looked better. He was putting some weight back on, and there was a healthier flush to his skin.

Still, I could see that his eyes were haunted when he joined Lucius and me for dinner one evening exactly one week after the trial.

The house elf poured the wine and I took the cup, holding it tightly in my hand but not yet taking a sip. "I've decided to take an extended holiday to France," I said.

Neither man looked surprised.

"Then I will of course accompany you," said my husband after a moment.

We turned to Draco.

He didn't look at either of us, fingering his goblet of wine. "I will remain here," he said at last, to my surprise. "Someone needs to stay and restore the family name."

Inwardly, I winced. But the rebuke was deserved, and both Lucius and I knew it. Nothing else was said. We all knew that it would not be months, but years before Lucius and I dared to show our faces again in Britain. But after dinner when Lucius had retired to his study, I pulled Draco aside.

"I have never," I said, my voice shaky with emotion, "been more proud of you in my entire life." And I was. He wasn't going to run from the pointing fingers and whispering crowds.

"Thank you, Mother," he murmured, and although he stood stiffly and awkwardly, the brightness in his eye told me otherwise.

And as I watched him climb the stairs, I only hoped that he would succeed. Repairing the damage done to our reputations would certainly not be easy.

* * *

Before I left, I had one more visit to pay before my departure, and this would be by far the most difficult of my affairs to settle.

I apparated to the tiny cottage nestled between a forest and a small pond one bright morning. The cheery sunshine did nothing for my mood as I followed the flower-lined path to the tiny porch, feeling rather adamant that I'd rather face the entire Wizengamot again than this.

Timidly, I knocked. The seconds seemed like hours as I waited.

The door opened, and I looked into the eyes of someone I hadn't seen in twenty-six years.

My older sister, Andromeda Tonks.

She looked so different from the last time I had seen her—young and fierce, her black eyes flashing as she declared to my father her intentions to marry the Muggleborn, Ted Tonks.

First, her eyes widened. Then, they narrowed suspiciously, before seeming to close altogether.

"What are you doing here?" she said dully, and I was alarmed by the deep lines in her face, made more prominent by pain. I knew her losses. I knew that the Second War had taken more form her than anyone else—her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law. In a word, her entire family.

"What do you want?" she demanded, a bit more loudly, pulling herself up to her full height—only an inch taller than me. But now I felt like cowering before the rage radiating off her person. "If you've come crawling back to say you're sorry and beg forgiveness, don't even other."

I closed my eyes. "That's not why I came," I whispered, forcing the words out of my mouth.

Andromeda's face hardened. "Then why did you come?"

I bowed my head. "Andy . . ." She jerked visibly at the name but gave no verbal response. "I didn't come to seek your forgiveness because I don't deserve it." Something flickered in her eyes. "But I am so very sorry for you . . . for your loss . . ." My voice broke, and I took a second to compose myself. "Andy, I came to let you know in person that Lucius and I are leaving the country. Possibly for good."

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "Running like a coward again, are you?"

That was deserved, and we both knew it.

"Call it what you want, but Lucius hasn't yet recovered from his time in Azkaban," I said quietly. "It's for his health as much as anything."

"You look thin as well," murmured Andromeda, not meeting my eyes.

It wasn't much, but it was enough. I seized the opportunity. "I came to see you," I said. "Because . . . I wanted to know, if Lucius and I do return, may I visit you?"

There was a long silence. Then, just when I thought she'd shut the door in my face, Andy bit her lip and gave the tiniest of nods.

Relief flooded my entire being, and I had the sudden urge to embrace her—but embracing wasn't something I practiced on a regular basis, so I was glad for the distraction from this emotionally uncomfortable moment, even though it came in the form of a baby's wail.

"It's Teddy," said Andy, shuffling her feet.

I blinked. "Who?"

She looked at me disbelievingly. "You don't know?"

I shook my head numbly. A baby? Where had Andy gotten a baby? Certainly it wasn't _hers…_

"Tonks," she said, a funny expression on her face. "I mean, Nymphadora. Teddy is hers. Hers and Remus's."

She had a grandson. I could see by the way she talked of the boy that already he was her anchor, her lifeline.

"Congratulations," I murmured, meaning it. The wail intensified, and she glanced over her shoulder. "Best of wishes, sister," I said, and turned to go.

"The same to you," she said, not unkindly, before almost reluctantly closing the door behind me.

As I left, I thought of my impending departure from England and I reflected on what I was leaving behind. Not much. Damaged relationships, a son I had failed, people I had hurt and betrayed. And I wondered when my life had become so complicated, so destructive and injurious. I suppose I was born into this life, and I secured my place in it in agreeing to marry Lucius.

Still, I sometimes wished I could fix the past. Things would have been so different.

**TBC**

**A/N: **I wrote this months ago. But, seeing that I feel so awful for the long period of time with no new chapters, I figured I'd polish it up and post it here to see what the reaction would be. It will be a series of oneshots, not particularly in order, of Narcissa's life, perhaps even dating back into her Hogwarts years and forward into the post war years. The very last snapshot will be the clearing scene from DH when she saves Harry's life.

And yes, I'm working on the other stories. Forgive a busy college nursing major.


	2. November 1968

My sister cornered me in a hallway one afternoon after class in my third year. It was odd, because we hardly talked any more. Mum and Dad were still fuming that she'd been sorted into Ravenclaw. But Bella had taken it worst of all. Her relationship with Andy had already been on rocky ground, and in Bella's eyes, Andy's initiation into the group of Mudblood-loving book-huggers was the last proverbial straw. I was in the middle: being the youngest, I'd always looked up to both of my sisters and tried to play my cards to stay in favor with both. I feared Bella—she was the sister who killed kittens and beat up boys. Andi was the nicer of the two.

"Cissy," Andromeda whispered in my ear, latching onto my arm, "I need your help."

Curious, I followed her. She kept glancing over her shoulder, as if looking for someone. Ah. She was watching out for Bella, who had warned me to keep away from Andy, as she might be a 'bad' influence on me.

Andy dragged me into a deserted corridor. "Have you . . . have you heard anything recently?" she said, hesitantly.

"Heard what?"

"I don't know. Stuff. About me."

Frowning, I shook my head. "I've got nothing here." Then again, I was a lowly third year. Most of the good gossip only got as far as the fourth years. Somehow, being a fourth year automatically was much more prestigious as being a third year.

I only had one more term to complete before I'd move up in life. Or in school, at least. I was looking forward to embracing my new "cooler" status.

"Are you sure?"

"Andy," I said, frowning. "What's the matter? Should I have heard something about you?"

"No, no," she said, quickly enough to make me suspicious.

"Andy."

"Oh, look at the time," Andy rushed on. "I'm late for class. I'll catch up with you later, Cissy. It's been lovely talking to you."

She slipped away before I could stop her. I leaned back against the stone wall, huffing in frustration, until I realised that I was getting dust and cobwebs all over my robes and quickly removed myself.

I didn't understand what was going on. I was nearly fourteen. I should be old enough to understand these things by now—but I didn't. Disgruntled, I proceeded back to the Slytherin Common Room and immersed myself in homework. But the uneasy feeling that something bad was happening refused to leave me.

* * *

One evening, the Black family hawk showed up at the entrance to the Slytherin Common room bearing a letter for myself and my sisters. Since my mother knew that two of us were in Slytherin, she'd sent it to the majority, and because she knew I was responsible, she'd addressed the envelope to me. The letter wasn't very important, but it did include a special note for Andi, containing instructions on the etiquette books she was to study before the Christmas Ball which was fast approaching. At the age of fifteen, this would be the first year she'd be able to attend.

I didn't want to leave the comfort of my dormitory, but I knew my mother would expect me to deliver the letter punctually, so I ventured out into the dark dungeon halls, winding my way over to the more cheery passageways where the Hufflepuff dormitory was located. Andi had many Hufflepuff friends, to my chagrin, and most nights she could be found studying with them in their common room. The Hufflepuffs were much more willing to let students from other houses into their quarters than we were. In fact, I couldn't recall a single incident when we'd allowed Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs into our common room. It simply wasn't done.

The lights began to get brighter as I neared the entrance to Hufflepuff. I passed a prefect who smiled and greeted me, but did not chide me for being out so close to curfew. Only the stupid Gryffindor prefects dared to take points from Blacks, and they usually paid dearly for it.

The two Hufflepuffs lingering outside the fruit painting eyed me warily as I approached, but they did not leave. I recognized one as a Mudblood, but rather than create unneeded animosity, I merely ignored the girl. "Have you seen my sister of late?" I asked the boy.

"I was just in the common room and she wasn't there," he said.

Disappointed, I nodded to them and began the trek back to Slytherin. A hike to the seventh floor where the Ravenclaw Tower was located wasn't exactly what I'd bargained for. I wouldn't see Andy until lunch the following day (she never attended breakfast on the weekend), and I hoped Mother wouldn't find out that I'd failed to deliver the letter promptly.

And then, I heard a burst of girlish giggling from the depths of a broom closet to my left. I slowed instinctively, straining my ears. It was probably nothing, but . . .

Again, a girl giggled. "Stop that! Someone might hear!"

I quickened my steps, grasping the doorknob. Without hesitating, I foolishly pulled open the door because I thought I'd heard my sister—and unfortunately I was right.

Andromeda, still giggling, was leaning up against the wall, as a tall, blonde boy kissed her neck enthusiastically. As soon as the light struck the pair, he leapt away from her, and she gasped, "Cissy!"

I couldn't think of a blessed thing to say, so I merely stood there, my mouth gaping. I thought I recognized the boy. Ted Tonks, was it? A year above Andy, Hufflepuff. Then, the full horror struck me. She was dating a _Muggleborn. _A Mudblood! Father would be furious. Mother would disown her. And what of the Lestranges, who were setting up a marriage between Bellatrix and their oldest son, Rodolphus? Our family name would be disgraced.

"Please, Cissy, I can explain!" Andy's face was pained, and she took a step toward me. But then, my legs finally found their strength again, and I bolted, blindly.

Andy was running after me. She caught me quickly—she'd always been the fastest runner of the three of us—and grasped my arm. "Narcissa, _listen to me,_" she gasped, pulling me to a stop, right there in the middle of the corridor. "You musn't tell anyone. _No one_. Do you have any idea what Mother and Father will say? What they'll do if they find out?" Her eyes were wide, pleading, but I saw genuine fear, and it frightened me even more. My older sister had never been afraid of anything before.

"Let me go," I pleaded. "You're hurting me."

"Cissy, you can't tell!" She shook me a little, and it seemed to knock me out of my daze.

"Let . . . me . . . go!" I finally shook her free and backed up a few steps. "How could you do this to us?"

She looked stricken. "I didn't mean . . ."

In the corner of my eye, I saw that Tonks boy round the corner. He wisely stopped, immediately realising that this was a family matter.

"It's bad enough that you got put in Ravenclaw in the first place," I spat. "Mudblood lovers, the lot of them. But I got over that, Andy. Father came to grips with it, even if Mother didn't. But now you're _seeing_ one of _them? _A Mudblood_?_ How could you?"

The betrayal was deep, like a knife cutting into my chest. In my young, inexperienced eyes, the boy she'd been with was little better than an animal. I couldn't understand what would ever possess her to choose him over our family.

Andy took a step toward me, but now her eyes were cold. "He is _not_ an animal," she hissed, and I realized that I'd spoken my thoughts aloud. "And I never want to hear you speak of Muggleborns that way again. Ever, Cissy. Ted is a person, just like you and me."

"How can you possibly put him on our level?" I exclaimed, horrified, and behind Andy, I saw Ted wince. Still, he didn't interfere. I felt the tiniest bit of begrudging respect for the git.

"Really, Cissy, how draft are you?" said Andy scathingly. "Do you really believe all the rubbish that we've been taught since we were young? All the nonsense about Muggleborns not being worthy of magic and Purebloods being in a class all of their own? I thought you were more intelligent than that."

"I am intelligent!" I said furiously, grinding my teeth. "I can think for myself!"

"Can you? Sometimes, I doubt it, and now is one of those times!" Andy's shoulders were shaking. "Ted is a human, no better or worse than you and me. He could beat me in a duel, and I'm not ashamed of the fact that he's better in Transfiguration than I'll ever be. I'd wager he's better than Bella in more than one subject."

"Bella could beat his scrawny arse any day," I protested, feeling the need to stand up for my oldest sister.

Suddenly, Andy burst into uncontrollable laughter. I stared at her. "Have you lost your mind?"

She slumped against the stone wall, half-laughing, half-sobbing. "I'd imagined this scenario a thousand different times, but I never thought we'd end up in an argument over who was better, Bella or Ted." She let out a huge, shuddering sigh. "I've wanted to tell you forever, Cissy, but I couldn't. I want you to be happy that I've finally found a decent bloke for once, one who respects me enough to be more interested in _me, _rather than a good makeout session in a closet, one who doesn't give a damn about the dowry that comes with marriage to a Black . . ." She trailed off, and I struggled with my conflicting emotions.

When I didn't speak, Andy took another step toward me. "Cissy, I really like Ted. Can you try and see him as our equal? For me? Just try."

I looked over at the tall boy lingering a short distance away. I tried to imagine that he was not a Mudblood. I tried to see him adorned in imported dress robes, with the characteristic haughty smirk gracing his features. I tried to see him as part of the circles I'd grown up in, conversing with Uncle Orion about the rising revenue in the house-elf breeding business or laughing with Uncle Alphard about the latest mishap at the magical menagerie he supported and visited weekly. I tried to see him arguing with Bellatrix on who would receive more money when their respective parents died, then pulling out his wand to settle the matter with a duel, and Aunt Walburga having to floo the Ministry yet _again _with a bribe so they'd wave the report of under-age magic.

I tried, but all I could see was a lowly Hufflepuff, beneath me. Beneath Andy. He wasn't worth the trouble she'd bring on us.

But looking into Andy's eyes, I saw something there, something I hadn't seen ever before. Her eyes brightened with a sort of affectionate light when she looked at him, and I couldn't argue with the way she'd defended him so passionately. Andy had always stood up to other people for me and Bella, but never before had I seen her take someone else's side against us. She really cared for him.

I shook my head. It was all disorientating and confusing. "But Mother and Father . . ."

She flew at me. "You can't say a word, Narcissa, or so help me . . ." I ducked away from her flailing fists, shrinking back toward Ted. Andy lunged at me again, and I tripped, falling backwards.

The Mudblood boy caught me. He was quite strong. "Careful there," he said, setting me back on my feet and taking a step between Andy and me. "This doesn't have to come to blows, because honestly, if it did, I might have to take the younger sister's side."

Andy scoffed at him, hands on her hips, but Ted shrugged. "You're bigger than she is," he said matter-of-factly.

"I beg your pardon," I exclaimed, shaking his hand off my shoulder. "I'm fully capable of beating Andy in a fight!"

"Don't change the subject," snapped Andy. "You have to promise not to tell Mother or Father. Or Bella. Or _anyone, _Narcissa! I mean it!"

I looked at Ted. He had a name, now, but only because he'd caught me when I'd tripped. He deserved a name.

"Alright," I whispered. "I won't tell."

"Oh, thank you, Cissy! Thank you, thank you, thank you . . ." Andy threw herself at me again, but this time, her arms encircled my neck.

I pushed her away. "But this doesn't mean I'm happy about it all. And it doesn't mean I approve. And I don't have to talk to _him," _I added.

"Then you can be assured that 'he' won't attempt to speak with you," said Ted, nodding at me. "I understand—well, at least I think I do."

"Cissy, you should be getting back to your dormitory," admonished Andy. "It's getting late, you know."

"I know," I said. Then, without another word, I turned and fled back down the corridor.

It wasn't until I reached the safety of the Slytherin Common Room that I realised I still had Andy's letter.

**A/N: **Sorry for the long delay. I've been so mind-blowingly busy with school of late (imagine trying to fit 62 hours of clinicals into one week) that I haven't had time to write, and when I do have a bit of spare time, all I want to do is sleep or vege out. Hope this makes up a little for the months of absolutely nothing. And a Merry Christmas to you all!

Posted 25 December 2008


	3. August 1994 to June 1995

_August 1994_

Lucius's hiss awoke me one night. I rolled over in bed and sat up, blinking at the light of the bedside candles. "What is it?"

His left sleeve was shoved up, past his elbow and he was examining his forearm. Silently, he showed me the inky blur on pale, white skin. Now, the skull was clearly defined, and the eyes of the snake had grown clearer.

A sharp intake of breath on my part. "What does it mean?" I whispered.

Lucius was silent for a moment longer. Then he pushed the sleeve back down over the mark, though I noticed his fingers still rubbed the spot through the cloth. It was paining him. "It means he's growing stronger."

I closed my eyes, unable to suppress the wave of horror that washed over me. It couldn't be…it wasn't possible... For fourteen years, I'd lived in safety, secure in the knowledge that the Dark Lord was gone. I had a husband, a family, a fortune. I was established in society. People knew the Malfoy name and the power that stood behind it, sometimes in the form of money, sometimes in the form of brute force.

"He can't be back," I choked out.

"He's not, yet," said Lucius, cold resignation in his eyes. "But he will be. Soon. And when the Mark burns, I will return to him."

There was no hint of hesitation, no thought of questioning. If we wished to live, we would once again swear our loyalties to the Dark Lord.

"But Draco . . ." I trailed off, unable to imagine what the Dark Lord would do with my son. He couldn't have him, I wouldn't let Draco follow in his father's footsteps . . . he would not become another of Voldemort's mindless killing machines . . . never . . .

"If our son is what the Dark Lord requires, so be it," said Lucius, and all my hopes shattered at the note of finality in his voice. "Narcissa, you tire me. Do you think so little of your life? Because death is the only reward for the unfaithful."

I bowed my head submissively. "Of course, Lucius."

He eyed me coldly. "The Dark Lord _will_ return, and when we return to him, he will reward us. _Dumbledore_"—he spat the name distastefully—"grows old and weak, and the boy Potter is merely a child, hardly powerful enough to thwart the Dark Lord again. With his return, our Lord will usher in a new era. Perhaps once and for all we can rid society of the mudblood scum and restore the most noble families to their former glory. Things will once again be as they should be."

I said nothing as my thoughts turned to reflect on what my life had been like in the years before that fateful Halloween in 1981. They had been dark days indeed, as I struggled to maintain our image in society, protect the child growing within me, and support Lucius and his unquestioning loyalty to the darkest Wizard to arise since Grindelwald. Every word was carefully considered, every action measured, every deed weighed on the scale of precision. Lucius and I walked a narrow road. One mistake, and our lives would be forfeit.

Would things be different this time around? I thought not.

Lucius slid gracefully out of bed, pulling on a robe and eying the silver clock on the side table. It was early—barely four in the morning—but there would be no more sleep for either of us tonight. He strode towards the bathroom. "Lucius," I said quickly, and he stopped in the doorway, turning, his expression unreadable.

"Won't you be punished for . . . for denying him after the first war?" I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

We had hidden behind claims of being controlled by the Imperius curse. And the Ministry, fools as they were, had believed us. After all, Lucius was on the School Board. There was a wing in St. Mungo's named after him and built entirely from his donations. Our name was well established in the Wizarding society.

"I will," said Lucius, no hint of fear in his voice. "But I will again swear my loyalty, and he will take me back."

Then he turned and swept out of the room, leaving me to cling to the heavy Egyptian linen sheets, trembling at the thought of what would soon come to pass.

_June 1995_

The mood was festive as I sat next to Lucius in a special box reserved for members of the school board overlooking the dismal maze spread out before us. The four Triwizard champions stood in the small expanse of lawn below, tall and erect as they awaited the starting whistle

"Lovely evening, isn't it, Minister?" Lucius was saying to Cornelius Fudge.

I took a moment to study the champions. I knew little about them, merely their names and schools. The tall blonde girl nearest me must be Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons. She looked pretty and delicate, but I knew otherwise. Madame Maxime was a competent headmistress—she would have educated all of her students in every area of magic, including the darker sides. The next champion, Viktor Krum, student of Durmstrang and world-famous Seeker for the Bulgarian team, was assuredly the most competent of the four. Durmstrang students were known for their extensive knowledge in dark magic as well as self-defense. My money was on him winning. Cedric Diggory, the first of the Hogwarts students, was definitely a capable wizard, but I doubted that if it came down to a duel he'd have a chance against the champions from the other schools. My eyes fell at last on the fourth champion—skinny, short, black-haired Harry Potter, the boy with nine lives. Only a fourth year, and yet he was still holding his own against the students with three years more experience. As I watched him standing there, shuffling nervously from one foot to another, hands in his pockets, I was suddenly struck with the thought that he was the same age as my own son, Draco. How would Harry's mother have felt had she been alive to see her fourteen-year-old son head off into the shadowy maze, facing only Merlin knew what sort of obstacles?

". . .isn't that right, Narcissa?"

I turned back to my husband, who arched one eyebrow. I knew the answer—it never changed.

"Yes, of course," I murmured, smiling coolly at Cornelius, who tipped his bowler hat at me. It didn't really matter what I'd just agreed to. In public, I was never to contradict Lucius—never.

"I do hope they begin soon," said Cornelius, who we were, of course, on a first-name basis with.

"There's Ludo Bagman," said Lucius, nodding to the rather stout man dressed flamboyantly in a turquoise blue suit, and we all turned our attention on the arena below.

The former internationally known Beater raised the silver whistle to his lips and blew. The shrill sound made me wince internally, and I watched as the first two contestants, the Diggory boy and Harry Potter, entered the maze, disappearing at once into the looming hedges.

Involuntarily, I shivered.

The crowd was noisy; students chatted merrily with each other, seemingly unconcerned with the dangers that awaited the champions within the high walls of the maze. I looked again at Fleur and Krum. The former was twisting her hands nervously while the latter looked perfectly composed, a scowl darkening his face.

Ludo Bagman blew the whistle again, and Krum disappeared into the maze.

Cornelius Fudge had turned to speak with Amelia Bones on his left, now, and I suddenly noticed that Lucius was unconsciously fingering his left sleeve. The feeling of icy fear filled my stomach and I swallowed hard. I couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom—something was going to go wrong tonight. I knew it.

"Your arm," I began in a low voice, but Lucius turned toward me, his eyes flashing.

"You must never speak of it in public," he hissed.

I fell silent, but I had seen a tiny bit of my own fear reflected in his eyes. I let myself scan the audience, searching for some other piece of evidence to confirm my suspicions that something was not right. In the stands, there was an air of apprehensive excitement among the students, but nothing out of the ordinary. The same was true of the visitors' box, where the families of each contestant sat, although they looked considerably more anxious than the students.

I found what I was looking for in the judges' box. Madame Maxime and Dumbledore sat, deep in pleasant conversation, but Karkaroff was hunched over at the end, his eyes shifty. I noticed that his hand kept drifting to his sleeve.

Ludo Bagman blew the whistle one last time, and the slender French girl vanished into the towering hedges.

Another shiver tingled down my spine, and Lucius shot a sharp look at me. "It's perfectly safe, Narcissa," he murmured. "There are Hogwarts professors surrounding the maze ready to come to the contestants' aid if they fall into trouble beyond their ability."

How could I explain that only half of my anxiety was for the contestants? I glanced back over at Karkaroff.

Lucius followed my gaze. "Narcissa," he growled warningly, and I met his gaze.

"Something isn't right here," I murmured, barely moving my lips lest someone see us talking become suspicious . . . suspicious of what? Perhaps I was taking this too far. But my gut feelings had never failed me before . . . "Something is about to happen."

"Of course something's about to happen," said Lucius disdainfully. "One of the four will be named winner of the Triwizard Tournament, and if it's that incompetent brat Potter, I shall most likely pull Draco out and send him to Durmstrang."

"You know that's not what I was speaking of," I said in a low voice.

"And _you_ know that I forbade you to speak of your speculations," he returned, his voice hard with a note of finality.

I fell silent again, and as the minutes ticked by, they felt like hours. I closed my eyes, trying to block out my fear, attempting in vain to calm the butterflies that waged war in my stomach. But even clearing my mind could not take away the raw fear I felt so keenly tonight. My heart pounded in my chest, and I was unable to slow its rapid drumming.

Then, above the dark mist rising above the high hedges, there was a sudden shower of red sparks. A gasp from the crowd. I half-rose from my seat, only to be pulled back by Lucius. "The professors will take care of the matter," he said.

Minerva McGonagall had already rushed into the maze, as well as other professors who were patrolling the farthest edges, I was sure. It seemed like hours before they emerged, supporting the stumbling figure of Viktor Krum.

I leaned forward; our box was quite close to the lawn, and if I strained my ears, I could hear the conversation, even above the murmur of the crowd. "I didn't send up sparks," Krum was saying dully, trying to free himself with short, jerky movements.

"Check his wand." That was McGonagall, and when no one else moved to do so, she reached forward grasped it, holding her own wand up and murmuring a spell. A shadow appeared, slowly forming into the clearly defined picture of a human body writhing.

Beside me, Lucius jerked. The three professors, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Rubeus Hagrid, stared disbelievingly at the misty picture that was already beginning to be fade. I knew before McGonagall choked out the words "Cruciatus Curse" what the picture had signified.

The iron ball in my stomach suddenly grew heavier.

"Lucius," I said faintly, but he paid me no attention.

"Look at his eyes!" squeaked Flitwick suddenly, and I peered at Krum in horror. Even from my place in the stands, I could tell that there was something terribly wrong—his pupils were dialated and unfocused.

"Imperius Curse," I breathed, and for once, Lucius didn't silence me. But who would have put an Imperius Curse on a student?

Only a Death Eater.

Below, Krum suddenly closed his eyes, then opened them and said faintly, "Where am I?"

I could see the professors frantically asking him questions, their faces falling as he shook his head, obviously disoriented. "I cannot remember," he kept repeating.

Karkaroff was there now, grilling the boy in low, angry tones, and Dumbledore stood a foot back, his face expressionless as he took in the scene, though I saw that his hands were clasped more tightly than usual.

If even Dumbledore was ruffled, I had reason to be _terrified._

"Cruciatus Curse . . . never in my life . . ." Cornelius was muttering, twisting his robes in his hands. "Must speak with Dumbledore . . ."

He tottered off in search of the Headmaster. At the other end of our box, I noticed that Amelia Bones and Opal Otchburg were deep in conversation with very serious expressions on their faces.

It was then that the second set of red sparks lit the dark night sky.

A few minutes later, Hagrid and Flitwick emerged once again, Hagrid carrying the limp body of Fleur Delacor, who was conscious, but injured. He set her down gently on the grass and Madame Maxime was instantly hovering over her student, speaking frantically in French. But as soon as Fleur caught sight of the still-shaky Krum, she screamed, "Eet was him! 'E was ze one!" before going off into a French tangent, some of which I could understand.

"I should speak to Karkaroff about this," said Lucius, his face expressionless, save for the slight twitching at the edge of his mouth, and he started to get out of his seat when suddenly he grunted and doubled over, hissing in pain.

"Lucius! What is it?" I whispered frantically, keeping my voice low lest we be noticed as my heart pounded traitorously in my chest.

He sank back into his chair, hunching over his left arm, and I could see that it was taking a considerable amount of effort for him not to cry out in pain. "Give me a moment," he gritted out, and his shoulders shook.

When he sat up again, he'd let go of his arm and was looking directly at me. "It's happened," he said. "I've been summoned."

"_What_?" I whispered disbelievingly.

"He's back," said Lucius tonelessly, and the two words shattered my carefully constructed world in an instant. "Think of a good excuse to use if anyone asks you where I've gone, Narcissa. Though I doubt anyone will notice my absence with this ruckus."

And then he was gone, slipping out the back, no doubt heading directly for the Hogwarts gates from which he'd Apparate directly to the location disclosed when the Mark on his arm had burned—I knew the drill. And I was left, sitting alone in my seat, feeling the cold, empty feeling creeping up my body as I concentrated on breathing. _In, out. In, out. _

Part of me wanted to deny that this was happening, but the sensible side told me coolly that denial would do no good. It would only allow me to retreat into a dream world, in which the Dark Lord never returned, and Lucius and I continued our superior lives, and Draco graduated from Hogwarts and married and had an heir to carry on the Malfoy name as planned . . .

I wanted to leave; I couldn't take it anymore, this waiting, the terror creeping through my body and gripping my heart, the knowledge that my husband was at that very moment standing before the Dark Lord, paying for our betrayal of him fourteen years ago fresh in my mind.

But I couldn't leave; I had to keep up appearances. Someone was _bound_ to notice if _both_ Malfoys disappeared halfway through the final task. Sometimes I would have preferred Lucius's role to mine—he did the dirty work, but my job was just important—maintaining our public image. Every day of my life was like a well-rehearsed play. I was only an actress in our small, well-structured world.

It was nights like this that I desperately wished for a different life, a different destiny.

I scanned the crowd of students and found my son; he was sitting with Crabbe and Goyle's sons, Gregory and Vincent, I thought they were called. I disliked both boys and often wished that my son would choose his friends more wisely. As my eyes scanned the three who were talking and laughing as if nothing was wrong, Draco felt my eyes on him and lifted his head. Our eyes locked for a second, and in a single look I tried to convey all the fear and foreboding I felt. His eyes flitted to the empty seat next to me before returning to meet my gaze. Surprise flashed momentarily across his face before the boy on his left elbowed him, and he turned quickly to answer.

Draco was many things—some of which included cruel, heartless, sarcastic, and often petty—but he was not stupid. I knew that he'd gotten the gist of my message—something was terribly wrong. But he would bide his time, acting if nothing was wrong until time permitted us to speak in private.

It was at that moment that there was a distinct whooshing noise—a noise only to be associated with the arrival of a Portkey. I was on my feet in a second, but when I saw the sight below, I froze, holding on the railing in front of me as if my life depended on it.

It was Harry—bloodied and battered, holding onto the handle of the Triwizard Cup. But his other hand gripped the wrist of the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory.

Then the shrieks and screams of the crowd filled my ears, and I saw Albus Dumbledore running toward Harry, attempting to pull him away from the body, and Cornelius Fudge was there, staring down at Cedric's body and gasping out, "My God – Diggory! Dumbledore, he's dead!"

Suddenly I couldn't breathe—I stood there, staring into the lifeless eyes of the boy who'd never reach manhood, the first of many victims to come, the first of many innocent people to die, and everything was suddenly very clear in my mind. The Dark Lord had planned this—_this_ was why the uneasy feeling had stayed with me all evening long—and Cedric Diggory, a boy I knew nothing of but felt a connection to nonetheless, was now dead.

_Dead._

I couldn't take it any longer. I stumbled blindly toward the exit, nearly tripping on the stairway, and I fumbled in my handbag for my own Emergency Portkey—I carried it with me at all times, and while this wasn't a true emergency, I knew there was no way in the world I could Apparate at a time like this.

A second later, I felt the jerk behind my navel, and the world was spinning out of focus, and the blackness that had threatened cloud my vision overtook me at last.

**A/N: **The oneshots will not be in particular order. Next I may skip back and do another one about Lucius and Narcissa at Hogwarts, but there is another part to this which will be posted soon.


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